


Lockwood & Co. Tumblr Prompts

by 35portlandrow



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: F/M, Gen, Ghost-Hunting Nerds, Locklyle, Sometimes this gets so Locklyle that I get embarrassed, Sorry if this gets super emo sometimes, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35portlandrow/pseuds/35portlandrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes people want me to write, and when they do, it usually manifests itself into whatever it winds up being reposted here. Go nuts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Quarter-Life Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from Anon: IDK IF YOU TAKE FIC REQUESTS BUT OCULD YOU WRITE SOME ANGSTY LOCKLYLE FOR ME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anon: IDK IF YOU TAKE FIC REQUESTS BUT OCULD YOU WRITE SOME ANGSTY LOCKLYLE PLEASE

After Lockwood & Co. returned home after a particularly taxing case in Hyde Park, Lucy descended to the basement and into the rapier room. There, she saw Lockwood engaging in his usual post-case ritual: hacking viciously at Floating Joe. His pale face was a mask of barely-concealed rage, his rapier nothing but a silver streak, the air singing around the blade. 

Lucy stood motionless in the doorway, watching as Lockwood continued his merciless attack on the dummy. Bits of straw burst into the air with every blow. Joe’s top hat had been knocked aside in the fray. Should she go? It didn't seem like he was in the mood for a chat. And she knew why. There was a reason why this bout of rapier play was so much more aggressive than its predecessors.

_The three of them stood vigil in the mist-shrouded grass of Hyde Park. The full-moon cast a silvery glow on everything on everything it touched. They were doing their usual thing, using both their inner and outer senses to detect their Visitor._

_Lucy shut her eyes. She listened intently for whispers, fragments of sentences, any noise that would reveal the spirit to them. After a few quiet moments, she could hear faint and incoherent whispers. The Visitor was nearing._

_“Got anything?” George asked beside her. Lucy opened her eyes and looked at her companions. George's brilliant blue eyes gazed expectantly from behind thick lenses._

_“Yeah, but it’s nothing more than whispers right now. I’ll get something better as night goes on."_

_"And you, Lockwood?” Lockwood was standing, still and quiet, hands buried in his pockets. His eyes were narrowed. If he had heard George - which no doubt he had - he gave no indication. Instead, he stared out into the park, silent and focused. With the back of a hand, he rubbed his eyes, blinked a bit, as if clearing his vision._

_“Ah,” he finally said, turning to his friends. “Nothing right now, but I think it’s too early for us to be certain of anything.” A wide smile, and then he looked at George. “Did you, by any chance, see anything, George? Death glows, apparitions, the like?"_

_George removed his glasses from his stoic face and wiped them on the hem of his sweater. “Far off by that bench, under the tree,” he began a little awkwardly. “There’s a death glow. Really faint, though. I’m surprised I even noticed it.” For a second, Lockwood stared at George and then over his shoulder at George's spot._

_“Well done, George,” Lockwood praised. He picked up one of the bags and took off to the spot, calling out to them over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s take a look, shall we?"_

Even with her keen intuition, it would not have taken Lucy long to figure out what was eating her friend. Lockwood’s Sight was far better than George’s. There was only one reason why he’d been faster to spot the death glow than Lockwood.

Two weeks prior, they’d celebrated Lockwood’s seventeenth birthday. It was a small affair, just the three of them surrounding a chocolate cake (courtesy of George). The mood had been kind of weird, a mixture of a party and a funeral and the reason was this: Turning seventeen as an agent was a death sentence. After seventeen - with the rare exception - an agent’s Hearing or Sight began to fade. So did the thrill of walking through the shadows, rapier in hand. The sudden realization of their dawning irrelevance hit the agents like a salt bomb. And it hurt like hell.

As Lockwood unleashed his pent-up frustration on the straw dummy, it coughed out particles of dust and straw, which drifted across the room. They tickled the inside of Lucy’s nose. Before she could catch herself, she sneezed. The sound stopped Lockwood dead in his tracks. He turned. His dark eyes bored into hers.

"Lucy. Do you need something?"

"Oh, um,” Lucy began lamely. “I just wanted to check on you, Lockwood. You know, to make sure you were okay.” He turned away from her and back to Floating Joe. He swatted at the dummy with his blade.

“I’m fine, Luce. Why wouldn’t I be?” Lucy breathed in and out slowly through her nose. Despite having opened up to his friends about the contents of the forbidden room, he still was hesitant to share his emotions with Lucy and George. Years of removing himself from the people around him had created in him a desperate need to never be vulnerable. This, to Lucy, was frustrating. She scratched the back of her neck anxiously. Then, without preamble, she blurted, “How’s your Sight doing, Lockwood?”

He stilled. Lockwood let his arms fall to his sides. Floating Joe spun in exhausted circles in the middle of the room. The smell of chalk, dust, and sweat wafted in the humid air. Neither spoke for some time. Eventually, it was Lockwood who broke the silence.

“When did I become so transparent to you?” He tacked a brilliant and sad smile to the end of the statement. Lucy said nothing. Lockwood leaned his rapier against the rack. Then, he moved closer to her. There was now maybe just a couple inches between them."My Sight,” Lockwood muttered, looking away from Lucy. He took a deep breath in and forced the next words out. “My Sight…”

Her heart quailed when he met her gaze. He looked absolutely helpless. “Lucy, this is all I have.” He gestured around the room. “My Talent, this business, this house. When my Talent’s all dried up and I’m useless, what will I do? I don’t have enough education to get a proper job. And being a supervisor? Out of the question.” He laughed bitterly. “Not a chance. I won’t end up being a useless sack of Talentless meat whose only purpose is to clog up the industry. It won’t happen."

Lucy reached out and grasped Lockwood’s hand, threading her fingers in between his. Then, he pulled her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist while still gripping her hand. He buried his face in the nape of her neck. Lucy wound one arm around his shoulders and ran her fingers through his hair gently.

"I’m afraid,” Lockwood breathed. Initially, Lucy wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. But then, he spoke again. “Lucy, I’m afraid."

What on earth could she have said to that? Lucy wracked her brain for some kind of response. Something to ease his mind, to try and shed some light on this bleak situation.

But there was nothing. Lockwood’s whole life revolved around eradicating Visitors, trying with a Herculean effort to put an end to what seemed like an unsolvable Problem. When that became impossible for him… he’d be lost. And so would she. So would George. So would all of the kids whose parents or guardians signed their futures away and enrolled them in apprenticeships that ripped any hope of a childhood away. So would all those kids who had no choice. There was next to nothing for them after this.

"I’m sorry,” Lucy whispered. Lockwood gripped her tighter. She could feel his bony chest shake with shuddering breaths. “Lockwood, I’m so sorry." And she was. Sorry for him. Sorry for herself. Sorry for George and Kipps, Godwin and Shaw, Vernon and Flo - every kid who had traded in a stable future for a silver-coated sword and sleepless nights. For every kid who thought their attempts would do anything to make that mad, crumbling, haunted world a better place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Tumblr users the-one-that-fell and leaffromthevine for inspiring this fic!


	2. Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anon: could you maybe do some steamy locklyle for me please? uwu

“Quick, in here!” Lockwood cried, pointing to a door at the end of the hallway. There was a little sign to its right with words that were, at that distance, illegible. Two potted trees stood like leafy sentinels on either side. As she and Lockwood dashed to the door, Lucy tossed a glance over her shoulder. No hotel security guards chased behind them in hot pursuit. Still, she could hear their thundering footsteps. Or maybe the fear of getting arrested was making her hear things.

 _Damn Lockwood for getting us in all this trouble._ Lockwood got to the door before Lucy. He threw it open and slipped inside, holding it slightly ajar for Lucy so she could do the same. 

The room was square-shaped, the walls paneled with wood and lined with wooden benches. Perched on the benches were a handful of men and women, wrapped in towels and breathing deeply. Some noticed two heavily-breathing teens in winter coats; others sat slumped against the cedar walls of the sauna

“Oh, hell,” Lucy muttered. Sweat rolled from her brow and down her face. A searing heat spread all throughout her body. With haste, she shucked her winter coat and discarded it on the ground.

“Well, it’s just a steam room,” Lockwood remarked. He had taken his coat off as well. “But it’s certainly as hot as hell, isn’t it?"

"Wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to hell.” Lockwood laughed.

“No,” he said mirthfully through his smile. “I suppose you haven’t.” Lockwood took a seat on a bench, resting his bony elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “You should take off your clothes,” said Lockwood suddenly. Lucy started.

“Excuse me?” Lockwood’s pale face was suddenly flushed. Lucy had a feeling it had little to do with the heat.

“Luce, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “It’s very hot in here, and we’ll be able to stand the heat longer if we shed some layers.” He removed his suit jacket, his tie, unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. “There,” he said. “Much better.”

"You know what?” Lucy asked, face burning. “I think we’re probably safe to leave now. The guards will have long since passed us.” She scooped up her coat and cracked open the door. Silent in the hallways. No raging guards shook the floor with pounding footsteps. “Yep,” said Lucy to Lockwood. He’d put on his jacket and overcoat again, but the buttons on his shirt were still unbuttoned. He had stuffed his tie into his pocket. “We’re all set. Let’s go.” She grabbed Lockwood’s wrist and yanked him from the steam room. Together, they strode down the cool dry hallway and out of the building, eager to leave before the guards - or whatever that awkward disaster back there was - could catch up to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not good at/kind of uncomfortable with writing sexual stuff. So, don't expect porn from me anytime soon.


	3. Paint Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from zoesaldaana: I'd go for like paint me Locklyle or something ('cause luce can draw and they're bored, maybe it'd be sort of like Flynn from Tangled where she can never get his nose right idk). Or maybe a xmas version of offer me with the trio. :3 (just pick either one ahahah sorry liz)

It was that stupid, classic English nose of his that left Lucy gritting her teeth and two seconds away from throwing the sketch into the bin. Just how difficult could one nose be? It certainly didn’t look hard to draw, nor should it have been. It was just one long straight line sticking out of the middle of his face. Well, it was more than that, but still. 

“He has the stupidest, most incredible nose known to man,” Lucy breathed, nearly slamming her pencil down on her cluttered desk. The basement was quiet, except for the muffled sounds of rapier on straw dummy, where Lockwood was relentlessly practicing his swordplay. 

“Who does?” said a voice behind her. She swiveled in her chair and received an eyeful of George - who hadn’t been there before - in a tracksuit, a donut in one hand and two bottles of water in the other.

“Uh,” she said after a vaguely panicked moment and then blurted, “Yours." 

_Oh, hell._

"Mine,” said an incredulous George, eyebrows disappearing up behind the curtain of his tawny hair.

“Yes." His eyes flickered between her and the rapier room.

"Let me see." 

"No.” Lucy hugged her sketchbook to her chest. 

“It’s okay, Luce. No need to make this awkward. If you wanted a model, you could have just asked. I’m very willing, and I’m sure Lockwood would be too, isn’t that right?" 

Lucy spun her chair around to see Lockwood emerging from the other room. He was sweaty and just a bit breathless as he asked, “What’s this about modeling?”

"Lucy’d like you to model for her,” quipped George before Lucy could interject. 

“No, that’s not-”

“Really?” A smile danced on Lockwood’s lips. “You know, countless people have told me I’d make a sublime model.”

“Is that so?” Whether George’s interest was real or feigned, Lucy couldn’t tell. But then again, it was safe to say, knowing George, that his interest in Lockwood’s aptitude as a model was at complete zero. 

“Oh, yes,” he said, full-Lockwood smile blooming on his face. His eyes flickered to Lucy. “But, Luce, if you’d like me to model, all you had to do was ask. With your artistic vision and my elegant frame, who knows? You could be the next William Etty.” It seemed impossible, but Lockwood’s grin widened even further. “Well, I’m going to shower. Catch you both in a bit.” And with that, Lockwood loped across the basement, up the stairs, and was gone. 

Meanwhile, George was trying not at all to contain his snickering. Lucy looked at him a bit crossly. 

“Don’t you laugh at me,” she growled. His snickers increased in volume and frequency. “What, what is it?”

“Do you know who William Etty is?”

“Of course I know who William Etty is,” Lucy replied, not actually knowing who William Etty was.

So, the next time the three journeyed to the Archives, Lucy stole a minute to quench her curiosity and wandered the shelves in search of William Etty. Finally, swallowing her pride, Lucy was directed by a librarian to Etty’s direction. What she discovered there made her cheeks burn and her head feel light as air. And when she returned to her companions, she also discovered that meeting Lockwood’s gaze might be a bit more difficult now than it was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as sexual as my Locklyle fics will ever get.  
> (Hi! Do you have a minute to talk about the holiest piece of literature, "relational cartography" by larkgrace?)


	4. Break Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by lil-miss-banana: break me with some angsty locklyle because I'm a horrible person

Anthony Lockwood is nothing, if not always in control.

Well, usually always in control.

Which is why he’s terrified out of his wits waking up from a disastrous nightmare, gasping for air like a drowning man, the echoes of the dream ringing like bells in his mind. Those moments are purely chaotic. He sits upright in his bed, hand pressed to his heaving chest, trying to return his breathing and the reeling world around him to normal.

He’s nowhere close to regaining control when the door to his room flies open. There’s Lucy, standing a safe distance away from him, saying his name, but not the usual one. The other one.

 _Anthony._  And it’s buried in a flurry of other words, like  _just breathe_  and  _you’re going to be alright_.

It takes some time, but his breathing slows. All around him, everything starts making sense again. Except for one thing: Lucy Carlyle sitting side-saddle on the edge of his bed. That doesn’t make much sense to him.

“What are you doing awake?” he croaks. His throat feels like he chugged acid, and the churning state of his stomach makes matters worse.

“Anthony, you were screaming bloody-murder,” explains Lucy. “I’d be surprised if George and the rest of the neighborhood aren’t awake too.”  _Anthony_. There it is again.

“Nightmare,” is all he says. His hoarse voice cracks, and he coughs, which makes it even worse. Lucy frowns and gets up from her perch.

“I’ll get you some tea.”

When she comes back, Lucy hands him his tea. He nods gratefully and thanks her, the warmth seeping into his bloodstream.

There’s an awkward silence then that’s occupied by Lucy running her hands over the fleece blanket, avoiding eye contact while Lockwood sips his tea gingerly.

It’s nearly pitch-black in his room, the only light bleeding in from Lucy’s room. But even then, Lockwood can just faintly make out Lucy’s profile: the strong jaw, long nose, and perpetually-pouting mouth. Not pretty, but certainly interesting to look at. But that’s not the reason why his heart’s racing.

It has more to do with the fact that he’s still shaken by the nightmare than because the girl he’s loved for the last year or so is sitting on his bed, but still. There she is. Dauntless, clever, remarkable Lucy, who he knew he would never be able to shake from his bones the minute he pulled her back from the mouth of the well at Combe Carey. Anthony Lockwood knows nothing for certain about his future but one thing: if he dies at seventeen or at seventy, he will never be free of her.

And still. There she is. Sitting on his bed, fidgeting awkwardly in the dense silence. There she is, Lucy Joan Carlyle.

And he loves her.

“Well,” she begins, shattering the silence.“If you’re all set, Lockwood, I think I’ll go back to bed now. Need anything else?”

_You._

But he can’t say that. Not now, not when everything is already so complicated with the Orpheus Society and all these mad conspiracies. No, saying that would make matters worse. Maybe. Would it?

_Oh, damn it all to hell._

“Forgive me, Luce, if you find this forward, but, you. Would you stay?” His voice cracks again, and he clears his throat. “That is, only if you’d be comfortable doing that. Only then.”

He might as well have just thrown up his dinner all over the front of her dressing gown, by the way she doesn’t react. He can’t quite see her face, but he can feel her wide-eyed stare on him. Stunned silence makes the air buzz with tension. Has he gone too far? No, of course he has! He was a fool to ever let those words see the light of day.

Lockwood’s near-panicked thoughts screech to a halt as Lucy plucks the mug of tea from his hands and sets it on the nightstand. She gestures in a shooing motion at Lockwood.

"Budge over,” she says. “I need some room.”

He complies. It’s a bit awkward at first, but soon Lucy’s pressed into his side, face buried in his shoulder and hand resting on his racing heart. He places his hand on her waist and takes a deep breath. This, he concludes, is high on the list of the most reckless acts he’s ever committed.

They whisper good night to each other before sleep overcomes them, taking Lucy out before Lockwood, who spends a good period of time boring holes into the ceiling, thinking so much but so little at the same time. Then, finally, he falls asleep,  and when he does, he rests more soundly than he has in years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOCKWOOD AND LUCY ARE A CUTE ACE COUPLE AND I WILL SHOUT IT FROM ROOFTOPS UNTIL I DIE


	5. Three Sentence Hogwarts AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anon: have u heardc of the 3 sentence au thing? do u think you could do a 3 sentence hogwarts Au? for lockwood & co.?

“Twenty points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor,” says Professor Kipps, a hyena’s smile spread across his narrow face as he shines the light at the tips of his wand in the faces of Lucy, Lockwood, and George. Lucy scowls, Lockwood looks as composed as ever - despite being caught out of bed after dark in the restricted section of the library - and George wipes his glasses on the hem of his sweater irritably. 

“And a detention will serve you right, Cubbins,” continues Kipps as he marches the disgruntled fifth-years out of the library and back to their common rooms.


	6. Three Sentence High School AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon: also how about a 3 sentence high school Au too? this is alyssa BTW :'D

“Who the hell comes to Walmart at eleven at night to buy groceries?” growls Lucy, tapping her foot in an irate staccato rhythm on the linoleum tiles, her arms laden with Little Debbie cakes, soda, and bags of chips, while Lockwood - with a copy of People Style Watch tucked under his arm - reads definitions off of flashcards to George, who fires back with one-word answers. The three are at the tail end of a winding line of customers and are all impatient to get back to 35 Portland Row and - in Lockwood and Lucy’s case - start their end-of-the-summer horror movie marathon or - in George’s case - polish up their knowledge of AP English tone words. 

“That’s kind of what we’re doing now - nope, not petulant, George. Try again - isn’t it, Luce?” asks Lockwood, and Lucy nods, knowing that he’s right but still damn impatient to get back to the house so they can end the summer as all summers should end: in an all-night, nonstop slasher/ghost movie fest.


	7. Three Sentence Winter Soldier AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon: IS A WINTER SOLDIER AU POSSIBLE LIZ BECAUSE I JUST SAW THE SECOND CAPTAIN AMERICA MOVIE AND I'M IN A LOT OF PAIN

i’m going to assume that this is still alyssa and that you’re still talking about lockwood & co. but if i’m wrong, let me know and i’ll fix this for you

“Lockwood?” George breathes, convinced that his eyes aren’t working correctly, because the person standing before him died seventy years ago, but here he is, clad in black, one arm silver, narrow chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares at George and Lucy. 

“Who the hell is Lockwood?” asks Anthony Lockwood, the Winter Soldier, their once best friend who fell to his death in a frozen German ravine, who they mourned for weeks, for years. Some spell that’s bound the three of them together in awestruck and disoriented silence in broken as Lockwood springs on them, knife in hand and rage wiping away any trace of their best friend.


	8. Art Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gift to Jess (jedirrey on tumblr) for her birthday. Super late, but she asked for Lucy giving Lockwood art lessons. Here you go!

“Bored?” From the doorway of the kitchen, Lockwood, fresh from the shower, nods, drips of water from his damp hair falling onto the blue of his shirt, darkening the hue a little bit. He’s been like that all morning. In one place in one second and then in another the other, oscillating between reading and rereading old pulp fiction novels and then frantic rapier play in the basement. Restless, as always, but amplified with the effects of his confinement in 35 Portland Row. It’s practically raining sideways out there, which means no cases. Which meant hobby-less Lockwood is, as Lucy had asked,  _ bored _ .

“A little bit,” he responds. She glances up at him from the sketch beneath her hand - a feathered mask carved out of some exotic wood, an artifact that once belonged to Lockwood’s mother. His eyes flicker down to her sketch. On a self-conscious reflex, she covers it with her forearms. But too late. “Is that the Malaysian phantom mask from the landing?”

“Ah, yes. It was interesting. Caught my eye.”

“What about it caught your eye?” A difficult question. She struggles for a moment to try and fathom into words  _ what  _ about it caught her eye. 

“The way the light from the little window in the landing cast shadows like this-” she points with her pencil to the sideways shadows that are cast against the sharp nose of the mask, the jutting brow, the angular chin. “And the dimensions. See how certain features of the mask stick out a little bit? It’s interesting.” Lockwood is silent, leaning over Lucy’s shoulder to study the sketch. She clears her throat. “I’m not an artist or anything like that. It’s just a hobby.”

“It’s a good likeness,” assures Lockwood, smiling. Then, he pulls up a chair next to her, at a polite distance, and sits down. “Say, do you give lessons?”

“Seriously?” Good Lord, he must be bored if he’s willing to sit through an entire lesson. He catches her disbelieving gaze and nods.

“It’ll be fun. Not much else to do, anyway.”

“Uh, okay.” She gets up from her seat. “Hold on a minute.” She slips behind the basement door and down to her desk, where she keeps the set of pencils George got for her last Christmas and her practice sketchbook. When she returns, Lockwood’s still there, his leg bouncing, drumming his fingers on the table. He grins when she sits down. And so the lesson begins. He’s a good student - listens aptly and asks a lot of questions - but, unfortunately, he doesn’t share that same aptitude for drawing.

“It looks…” begins Lucy awkwardly, flickering her eyes from the salt shaker Lockwood chose to draw and the actual drawing.

“Good?” he offers.

“Like a butternut squash,” she finishes, grinning at him a bit sheepishly. He leans closer to the paper, his nose smudging the edge of the squash - sorry,  _ saltshaker. _

“Damn, you’re right.” He leans back and scratches the edge of his nose.

“Well, we can’t be good at everything.”

“No, I suppose not.” He pauses, smiles at her, and then looks over her shoulder and out the kitchen window. “Hey. Look at that.” She turns, and sees that the rain has let up, God, there’s a little ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. She’s about to remark on it when George steps in the doorway of the kitchen.

“The rain’s let up,” he says, his coat draped over his forearm. “Could use some help with research for the Wandsworth case.” Lockwood springs to his feet and steps around the table, but not before patting Lucy tenderly on the shoulder.

“Thanks for the lesson, Luce. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” She stands too and follows him around the table.

“I agree. Though I’m not so sure if it’ll help at all.” She nudges Lockwood in the ribs, and then, laughing, they step out into the daylight. 


End file.
